


i will pack my bags just to stay in the corner of your heart

by pinkhairedfairy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 22:52:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10476336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkhairedfairy/pseuds/pinkhairedfairy
Summary: He started kissing him then, pulling him by the lapels of his winter coat into the apartment and pressed him to the door behind him and just take. Take hungrily, selfishly. "mine mine mine" he murmured with Daveed's long fingers tangled in.his hair."yours" he always whispered to his temple "yours yours yours"dedicated to sleepwalk, because anytime you write Rafa the muse comes alive. Damn you.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepwalk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepwalk/gifts).



The collection of photos started when they first met. A lot of blurry pictures, he was too quick, too antsy to be captured properly. He fidgets, his mom would tell him be still, ex-girlfriends held his hand too tight in their own kind of warning.

The very first picture is starting to yellow around the edges. Lean and seemingly endless, Daveed tucked his legs under his body on the floor, back against the old couch that had dipped at one side with the burn mark on the armrest. The couch didn't look like the actual mess it had been in the picture, it looked like it had gone through a few filters, the edges fuzzy. 

Daveed is wearing an old hoodie he had thrown out before moving to New York with the hole in the ratty cuff, seams unraveling. Feet bare, glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. Just a hint of a smirk, acknowledgement that he knew Raf had pointed the camera and wasn't going to move. Give him his picture.

Which he kept tucked into his copy of The Bell Jar no one actually picked up and read. He liked to have it to reference. It yelled "see! I am too a feminist! I own Sylvia Plath!"

 

 

 

 

 

He took pictures of him on stage, hidden behind a curtain. Those were the only times Daveed came out a blur, like dancing light. Like energy is space, golden shimmer. He told him it was the only time you could maybe actually ever see his friend's soul and Daveed had ducked his head, closed his owlish wide eyes under his glasses.

Daveed never gave those a second glance, passed them into others hands and would get up to make tea. Like Rafa was going to tell the things the pictures didn't catch - the sheen of sweat across his chest that caught in stage lights, the rapid fire of his voice echoing in your chest like a deep drum beat.

He kept that to himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they moved to New York, Daveed had announced he had gotten the role and  
Rafael had gone wordless. They had argued, clear and crashing like glass breaking. He needed to do this Daveed had argued, Raf had his own things. He needed something. He never looked up to see the shine fade in his best friend's eyes as he yelled the words like he was trying to get the scratchy burn out of his throat.

He had called two days later from New York at 5 a.m, cause fuck time zones. Raf had packed his bag, just waiting for the call. The I tried and it turns out you're like a limb, I can't do this without you. They never kissed sober. Those touches were things they pretended they didn't remember from the night before. But that phone call felt like a kiss, sober and jarring, accelerating his heart rate til he was dizzy.

When they got to New York, the pictures were the same, the background changed. He showed Daveed each photo, the background blurred. The colors weren't California clear, no real horizon where brown met blue. Looked more like the painter of that picture had forgotten to wash their brush, colors muddied. And Daveed glowed, teeth white, eyes shiny and wide. 

He fell asleep to Daveed going over his day in the dimly lit shadows that fell across their bed. Lights from the bodega across the street cast shadows on their yellowing white walls he had tacked pictures on when they first moved in. "Kinda homey huh?" Raf had tried his best to look excited and enthusiastic. 

 

 

 

 

 

He stopped going to the photo shoots after awhile. It became a challenge, ducking people when Daveed got those rare days off. He would stand back at the photo shoots with his hands tucked in his pockets and scuffed the toe of his converse on the pavement as he watched. It was all wrong, the background stayed as still as Daveed. Daveed's eyes squinted without his glasses and his lips covered his teeth even he smiled.

He started kissing him then, pulling him by the lapels of his winter coat into the apartment and pressed him to the door behind him and just take. Take hungrily, selfishly. "mine mine mine" he murmured with Daveed's long fingers tangled in.his hair.

"yours" he always whispered to his temple "yours yours yours"

 

 

 

 

There are pictures of him too. A few, his shadow behind Daveed, blending into the elongated torso and broad shoulders, making Daveed look kind of clunky and lumpy. Like he was there to keep himl grounded.

Sometimes it's half his shoulder, his hand on the table, tip of his elbow. Sometimes he's there in the reflection of Daveed's eyes. But he's there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They fight still, fight about anything when he has to leave. The mere idea of this changing makes Raf panic a little. But the drive to keep fighting is starting to fade. There are shadows under Daveed's eyes and the tips of his fingers are starting to get stained with ink and tobacco. Calls from the New York Times and New York University come through on the same answering machine.

They say those three words now, now when things are new and scary. Or to placate the ache in their chests over the phone. He doesn't facetime much, Daveed's eyes are a little dull and starting to fade. Not his place to tell him to slow down, he keeps the same pace on the opposite coast or even an ocean away.

"I need you" the text comes at 4:30 in the morning, not that Raf was sleeping. "Please come" the next text reads. He sends a picture of the computer screen showing his flight out. Previous engagements or not, he's gone. He told him once he would stop the world for him. "I love you, wild man" the last text reads.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They keep a framed picture by their bed, doesn't matter where they move. It was the night they met, his arm is slung over Daveed's shoulder, face pressed to his neck. His ear is pink, he can't remember but he's sure he was laughing. Daveed is turned to him, large hand and long fingers curled around his side. His smile takes up his face, teeth gleaming. But he's still, Daveed still and clear and the night around them a blur of velvet sky and quick moving neon lights from the bars and club.


End file.
